


Prologue of Our Lives

by MagicaDraconia16



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 21:55:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12993330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaDraconia16/pseuds/MagicaDraconia16
Summary: A dirty window, the bane of his existence, and a large pack of yapping fluff balls. Hopefully Severus’ shop will survive the inevitable chaos.





	Prologue of Our Lives

There was a strange ladder leaning up against his shop. 

Folding his arms, Severus Snape studied it. His shop had more wards than most and yet none of them had gone off. The young man currently balancing at the top of the ladder should have had a nasty shock before ever getting that far. 

Although from what Severus could see, the young man did have a very nice rear end. It would have been a shame if it had been hexed. 

Stepping up to the bottom of the ladder, he looked up.  _My, my, even better from this angle._  Ignoring the tingle that ran through him, he cleared his throat, and watched with amusement as the young man startled so badly he had to pinwheel his arms to avoid falling backwards off the ladder. “I’m afraid if you’re looking for items you can easily steal then you’re looking through the wrong window.” 

“Wha—Snape?” Green eyes shot down to meet Severus’. “What are you doing here?” 

“This is my shop. Do you not research your marks, Potter?” 

Harry Potter – Boy Who Lived, Saviour of the Wizarding World, Bane of His Existence – scrambled down the ladder and grinned at Severus. 

“I didn’t realise this was yours,” he said. 

“Now you do, so go find someone else to burgle,” Severus advised. He stepped around the ladder – and Potter – and unlocked the shop door. 

“’M not burgling,” Potter chirped, following like a lost puppy. “I’m the window cleaner.” 

Severus stopped dead. “The what?” 

Potter swerved to avoid him and barely stopped himself from landing face first against the front window. “Did you not get the owl?” he asked, straightening up. “From the DASA?” 

“The Diagon Alley Shop Association sends far too many owls,” Severus informed him. “If I read every one of them, I’d never do anything else.” 

Potter laughed as Severus pushed open the shop door. “Well, I know the chairman was firecalling everyone to confirm—” 

“Ah. He must have forgotten I don’t have a Floo here.” Severus scowled as he turned to close the door and found Potter had followed him in. “Did I invite you in, Mr Potter?” 

“My company also sent an elf,” Potter said, blithely ignoring Severus. Apparently his sense of self-preservation wasn’t any greater than it had been at Hogwarts. 

“Elves are not allowed in my shop because they cause too much disruption,” said Severus. 

“Ours are very well behaved,” Potter began, but trailed off as Severus’ scowl deepened. 

“The disruption does not come from the  _elves_ , Potter,” he sneered. “They upset my clients.” 

“Clients?” Potter blinked, and then turned his head to study what he could see of the shop. He blinked again as he noticed the interior for the first time – the long, thick steel-topped benches of varying heights; the sinks along one wall that were so deep they were almost troughs; the shower area in the far corner with six separate showerheads; the long animal pens along the back wall; and the shelves full of dyes and grooming tools just beside the door. “Just what kind of shop  _is_  this?” Potter asked, turning bewildered eyes back to Severus. 

Severus rolled his own eyes. “Did you pay no attention at all to the name of my shop when the DASA hired you?” he queried. 

“Um, actually, they didn’t give us names of most of the smaller shops,” Potter admitted, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. “Just the shop owners’.” 

“And I suppose you didn’t think to take a look at the shop signage as you climbed past it, either?” Severus folded his arms over his chest and looked down his nose at Potter. 

“Ah . . . no,” Potter said. A flush was beginning to stain his cheekbones a dull mottled red. 

“Well, then.” Severus took a step towards Potter, and ignored the brief flash of disappointment when he took an equal one backwards. Herding Potter towards and out of the shop door, Severus paused in the doorway, one hand resting on the door. “Perhaps you should find the time to take a look. Whilst you’re washing it.” 

And with that, he briskly shut the door in Potter’s face. 

* * *

Harry blinked at the door as it  _snick_ ed shut. Then he blew out a breath.  _Well, that was a promising start to the morning_ , he thought. Imagine Snape here, owning a shop that obviously had nothing to do with potions. He was sure that Snape’s name hadn’t been on the list of shop owners the DASA chairman had owled to him; otherwise he would have sent someone else to do this particular job. 

Shaking his head ruefully, Harry took a couple of steps back into the street and studied the lettering painted over the shop window.  **Hair of the Dog**  ran across the sign, with a messy, wire-haired crup bouncing around on one side of it, and a neatly groomed, placid kneazle calmly sitting on the other. 

It was a grooming parlour, Harry realised with surprise. A  _pet_  grooming parlour. With a name like that, he’d have thought it was a pub – and probably had, he further realised, grimacing at himself. 

No wonder Snape had said the house-elves disturbed his clients. 

Shaking his head again in disbelief, Harry climbed back up his ladder to finish the preparation spells that Snape’s arrival had interrupted. Who would have thought that the bane of every Hogwarts student’s life would ever willingly work with animals – without turning them into potions ingredients?

The DASA chairman had indicated that this was a fairly popular shop, even if it was small – he had hopes of it growing – but now that he’d seen Snape, Harry wondered at that. Perhaps Snape had employed people to interact with the human customers?  _Yeah, that has to be it_ , he thought, leaning out precariously from the ladder to poke the far corner of the window with his wand. He couldn’t see people being willing to entrust their precious pets to the greasy bat of the dungeons. 

And yet . . . Harry straightened up, then leant his elbow against the window and looked downwards, consideringly. Snape hadn’t  _actually_  been that greasy this morning. Instead, his hair had been . . . shiny. Glossy. Even – dare Harry say it? –  _bouncy_. It had gently brushed against Snape’s face, framing his dark eyes so that was what the eye automatically focused on, those mysterious dark ebony pools . . . 

_Wait a minute, what?!_  Harry jerked himself upright, and almost fell off the ladder for the second time that morning. Perhaps he’d inhaled too many fumes yesterday, because he had  _not_  just thought that Snape’s eyes were mysterious and attractive. 

He descended the ladder again to conjure a bucket and fill it. Perhaps he should aim the  _Aguamenti_  over his head, first, he mused. It might wash the strange thoughts out of his mind. 

* * *

Involved in inventorying his stock of flea potions, Severus didn’t even look up as he heard the crack of Apparation in the shop’s back yard. Only his assistant ever entered the shop that way. 

“Good morning, sir!” she chirped. 

“Miss Abbott,” he responded. 

“Honestly, Professor, when are you going to start calling me by my married name – or Hannah?” she demanded, placing her hands on her hips in mock insult, although the smile on her face spoilt the image she was going for. 

“Perhaps when you stop calling me ‘Professor’,” Severus said, looking up at her. His lips twitched. Hannah Creevey was having problems deciding what to call him. Her default was “Professor” but, since he wasn’t one any more, then Severus objected to that. Equally, Hannah didn’t feel comfortable calling him by his given name, which meant that she was reduced to either “Sir” or “Hey, you!” 

Shaking her head, Hannah opened her mouth, and then froze, her gaze caught on the shop’s window. “What in Merlin’s name . . . ?” she stuttered. Then she frowned. “Is that . . . is that  _Harry_?” she asked. 

“Apparently Potter is the window cleaner,” Severus informed her, casually. 

“The what?” Hannah’s eyes shot to Severus for a moment, then drifted back to where Potter was industriously scrubbing what appeared to be a particularly stubborn spot at the bottom of the window. His tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth, caught between his teeth in concentration. Of course, Severus hadn’t been looking closely enough to see that – or to start imagining just what  _better_  uses Potter could be putting that tongue to. 

“Apparently the DASA hired him,” Severus continued, turning his attention forcibly back to his inventory. He frowned; he was running dangerously low on flea potion, and Mrs Kettleworth was due to bring in her pet, Tiny, for his monthly flea bath and groom. The elderly witch shared the atrocious naming habits of Hogwarts’ groundskeeper, Hagrid, as Tiny was the size of a small horse. His mother, a normal crup, had been Mrs Kettleworth’s prize breeder, until the day the crup had gotten out and gone to meet up with what Severus suspected had been an Irish wolfhound. Tiny very definitely took after his father. 

“Just for us?” asked Hannah, moving towards the front desk to check her appointments book. 

Severus snorted. “As if the chairman is that generous,” he scoffed. “No, it appears Potter has been hired to do every shop in the DASA.” 

“I hope there’s more than just Harry, then,” Hannah said, absently. “It’ll take him weeks to do on his own.” She flipped through a couple of pages, then frowned. “Oh, dear,” she murmured. She closed the book and laid both hands over it before looking up at Severus again. “It’s that time again,” she stated, dolefully. 

Severus froze. “What?” He cleared his throat – because he had  _not_  just said that in a squeak – and tried again. “What’s that time again?” 

“Miss Hobbs.” Hannah just  _looked_  at him. And really, she didn’t even need to say that much. 

Miss Hobbs was a spinster who was rapidly approaching firm middle age, but didn’t want to admit it. She owned a pack of small dogs, all different breeds, but allowed them to breed with no care for bloodlines. Consequently, all her current dogs were several generations inbred, and all emphasising the worst traits of all the breeds combined. Having them in his shop was a nightmare, as any- and everything set them off – indeed, they never stopped yapping – and chaos inevitably followed them. 

Severus had, on several occasions, tried suggesting that Miss Hobbs find a groomer that did house calls – which they emphatically  _did not do_  – but Miss Hobbs had apparently taken a fancy to Severus, and refused to let anybody else touch her babies. If he tried to look busy with someone else, Miss Hobbs sat around waiting until he was free. 

“Oh, Merlin,” Severus groaned. He buried his face in his hands for a brief instant, then looked up again, his eyes darting around the shop. The chairs for customers who wanted to wait would have to go – two of the dogs had almost strangled themselves the previous month after getting their leads tangled around the chair legs, and the chairs themselves had not exactly come out of the encounter intact either – the bottles of potions would have to be moved, the shelves would have to be heavily stuck to the walls, and he’d have to brew Tiny’s potion out in the back yard . . . 

Both his and Hannah’s heads turned towards the shop window as a storm of yapping and yelping came from outside, along with the deep bellow of a large dog, a crash and yells in a distinctly male voice. 

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping that this would all turn out to be a nightmare once he opened his eyes again. As the noise outside got louder, he realised he wasn’t going to be that lucky. 

“This is just not my day,” he muttered. 

Miss Hobbs had arrived early. 

* * *

Harry had no idea what had just run him over, apart from the fact that it was furry, and apparently had a lot of legs of various sizes. 

He had been straightening from where he was crouched in front of the large shop window when he had heard a loud, deep sound that seemed to rattle his bones, then a lot of high-pitched yips, and the next thing he knew he was flat on his face on the cobbled street, while something seemed to dance on his back. 

“Oh, my!” a wavering female voice gasped from somewhere nearby. “Tibbs! Tonka! Gellie! Oh, you naughty babies! Get away from that . . .  _thing_!” 

“ _Thing_?!” another female voice yelled, sounding a lot more outraged than the first had. “My Tiny is not a thing! Control your mob, blast you!” 

“Ah, excuse me,” Harry croaked, but the hefty weight of whatever-it-was on his back had driven all his air out, so it emerged as barely more than a puff of breath, and didn’t advance any further than his own ears. Certainly the two female voices, one quivery and the other booming, didn’t pause. 

Before he could inflate his lungs enough to try again, a pair of boots appeared beside him, and the sound of a throat clearing came from above. “Ladies.” The word, soft as it was uttered, was laced with an edge of impatient menace, and the entire scene froze. 

Unfortunately, the quiet didn’t last for more than ten seconds before the noise burst out again, twice as loud as before. 

“Ladies!” the voice above Harry said again. It was definitely Snape’s “if you do not listen to me, you will be in detention” voice. Unfortunately, neither lady had ever been taught by Snape, and so both ignored the danger. There was a short growl. “Ladies, if you do not cease that racket this instant, neither of you will be allowed into my shop for the foreseeable future. And possibly beyond!” 

Shocked gasps came from the ladies. 

“And you may not have noticed,” added Snape, almost as an afterthought, “but your dogs are currently squashing Mr Potter. I believe he’d like to breathe sometime soon.” 

* * *

Severus watched with concealed glee as Mrs Kettleworth and Miss Hobbs both went into a frantic flurry of name-calling and cooing, trying to entice their unruly pets away from each other – and therefore away from Potter. He hadn’t had either woman as a student, but it was nice to know that his stern – okay, nasty – professor persona still worked well enough to subdue them. 

Once the last little menace had danced back towards his owner, Potter slowly pushed himself upright. He didn’t get any further than his hands and knees before lowering his head, his back heaving as his lungs worked to re-inflate themselves and begin processing oxygen again. 

Once his head rose again, Severus held out a hand to him. Potter stared at the hand for long enough that Severus was considering withdrawing it again, then suddenly darted his own hand up to grip Severus’. 

Potter’s hand was still cool from the water he’d been using to wash the shop window, but his wrist, where Severus’ fingertips were resting, was warm and silky smooth. Severus could feel Potter’s heartbeat throbbing steadily through the pulse point. He felt a sudden urge to rest his lips there – or perhaps take a bite. 

When Potter remained on his knees – and, oh, the ideas  _that_  gave him! – he tightened his grip, and then yanked the idiot upright. His gaze apparently still fixed where their hands clasped each other, Potter was caught off-guard at the movement, and staggered against Severus. 

_Hmm, very definitely not a scrawny adolescent anymore_ , Severus found himself thinking, at the feel of the muscles pressed against him. He rather regretted it when Potter found his footing and straightened, and for a split second he considered tugging Potter off balance again. Potter was making small tugging movements, though, trying to reclaim his hand, so with an internal sigh, Severus let him go. 

Mrs Kettleworth was standing with Tiny sitting at her side. Miss Hobbs, on the other hand, was kneeling, frantically trying to scoop up all her dogs into her arms. Hyped up by the tussle, they were bouncing around and barking at everything. Severus sneered at them. 

“I’m afraid I have to brew some more of Tiny’s flea potion,” he said to Mrs Kettleworth. “You’re welcome to wait, or come back in an hour.” 

The woman opened her mouth, then paused and glanced down at Miss Hobbs. “We’ll come back,” she said, hastily, and turned away with a tug on Tiny’s lead. “Come along, Tiny.” His tail wagging affably, the large brute padded after his mistress. 

“Miss Hobbs, Mrs Creevey will begin seeing to your dogs, as will the apprentices when they come in.” 

“Oh, but—” Miss Hobbs started, looking up at Severus with wide eyes that she no doubt considered beguiling. 

“I shall be busy, and I will not have those ruffians tearing up my shop in the meanwhile,” said Severus, sternly. He folded his arms across his chest and looked down his nose at her. 

Despite the fact that she was technically old enough to be  _his_  professor, Miss Hobbs wilted underneath his gaze. “Gellie is fond of Mrs Creevey,” she said faintly, in agreement. 

Severus gave a brisk nod of his head and, with a last sideways glance at a speechless Potter, re-entered his shop. 

* * *

Harry watched as the middle-aged witch meekly gathered together her herd of dogs – which were still yapping; Merlin, didn’t they ever stop? – and trailed after Snape. Then he blew out a steadying breath and examined his hand to see if it looked as burnt as it felt. When he found it looking as ordinary as ever, he shook it out and turned back to the shop window, hoping the cool water would wash out the tingles. 

Once he was certain that all the magic-resistant spots had been dealt with, Harry climbed up his ladder again to start the cascade of spells that would clean the rest of the window. 

An hour later, Harry followed the elderly witch and her huge dog into the shop. Several of the small dogs from before yapped at it but, apart from one soft growl, the larger dog ignored them this time. 

His classmate, Hannah, was at one of the sink areas, bathing one of the little terrors. Harry made his way over, having to hop several times as the critters darted here, there and everywhere. 

“Hi, Harry!” Hannah greeted him enthusiastically as he managed to reach her without breaking a leg or his neck. “How are things?” 

“Good.” Harry looked down at the pile of soapsuds. “Just letting you know I’m about to start on the interior of the windows – just in case that will cause problems?” 

Hannah paused and blew a puff of air upwards, trying to remove a piece of hair from her eyes. When this failed to move it, she pushed it away with the back of a wrist, and then half turned to study the shop, keeping a hand on the wriggly dog trying to shake off the soap suds. 

“You may get some of Miss Hobbs’ dogs trying to bite the soap bubbles,” she said, finally. “Would that be poisonous?” 

“No, our stuff’s homemade by Hermione, so it’s organic,” Harry told her, smiling ruefully. 

“Really? Does she make anything else? Does she  _sell_  any of it?” Hannah asked, rapidly turning back to him in interest. “I wouldn’t mind some of that stuff for our place – Dennis is useless at window spells . . .” 

“We do sell it, but we do also do domestic places,” Harry replied. “Not just windows, either; we do all sorts of cleaning.” 

“Do you have a card with Floo and owl details?” Hannah made a grab as the dog made a break for freedom from the sink. “Then I can talk it over with Dennis and we can contact you.” 

“Uh, sure.” Harry checked all of his pockets, only to realise with a frustrated grimace that he’d run out again. “Hang on, I’ll have to get the office to send one.” With a quick wave of his wand, he summoned his Patronus. “Please could someone send me a bunch of cards, as I’m all out.” He’d waved it off before suddenly realising that he should have mentioned to owl him the cards, rather than send one of their elves. “Oh, bugger,” he muttered. 

Well, he hadn’t said it was  _urgent_. Surely whoever received his message wouldn’t send them out straight away – would they? 

Leaving Hannah to get back to grips with her slippery customer, Harry headed back for the shop door, hoping he’d manage to at least be outside when the cards arrived. He’d barely reached the middle of the shop when there was a loud  _crack_  just behind him. 

“Master Harry Potter, sir,” a high-pitched voice started behind him. “Missy Lavender sent—” 

And that was as far as the poor house-elf got, as at that point, the yapping dogs – which had briefly paused in stunned delight – recovered their senses, and within seconds, fur and suds were flying everywhere, furniture was being upended, the few humans were yelping and cursing, and the only thing audible above the yowling of Miss Hobbs’ babies and Tiny’s deep booming bark was the elf’s even higher-pitched squeals of fear. 

“ _What_  is going on here?!” Harry vaguely heard Snape’s voice rise from the doorway leading to the back rooms. He cringed. 

Oh, he was in for it now! 

* * *

Severus looked at the utter chaos that had overtaken his shop and hastily darkened the front windows, cutting off any show that passersby might get. The high-pitched squealing was cutting right through his head, and his teeth ground together. 

“ _Petrificus Canis_!” he bellowed, waving his wand in a broad sweep that encompassed the whole room. Everything with four legs and fur froze – and after a second, so did all those on two legs as well – so that the culprit was clearly visible, huddled in a miserable ball in the middle of the shop floor. 

Realising that something had changed, the house-elf slowly peeked over the top of its arms, that it had raised to protect its head. Wide, wet eyes blinked at the frozen dogs, then tracked over to where Severus was standing, his arms now folded across his chest and a deep scowl on his face. With nothing more than a squeaked, “Meep!” the house-elf promptly vanished. 

“Whose elf was that?” Severus demanded, looking from one customer to another. His eyes came to rest on Potter, who was cringing, blushing, looking everywhere but at Severus, and all but screaming out loud that it was his. “ _Potter_ ,” Severus growled, and beckoned at him with one finger. “Come here.” 

“Um, I’m sorry?” Potter tried, as he budged not one inch. Severus’ glare deepened, and Potter’s guilt apparently overwhelmed him. “I’m really sorry!” he blurted. “I sent to the office for some more cards for Hannah, and I used my Patronus but I forgot to let the office know they shouldn’t use one of the elves to respond, so I was trying to get outside, but then the elf arrived, and the dogs spotted her, and—” 

“ _Potter_!” Severus snapped, and Potter’s mouth suddenly clamped itself closed. “Did I, or did I not, tell you this morning that I did not allow elves because they disturbed my clients?” 

“Uh, yes, but I—” Potter started again. 

Severus held up one finger, and Potter fell silent. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Severus looked again at the disaster area that was now his shop. “Leave, Potter,” he said, tiredly. “Just get your things and go.” 

“But I’m not finished with—” said Potter. 

“ _Go_!” Severus bellowed at him, and with a squeak reminiscent of his house-elf’s, Potter stumbled towards the door, dodging the still-frozen dogs and their owners, who seemed to be willing themselves invisible. Once outside, he stared at the closed door for a moment, then Summoned all his equipment, shrank it down, and Disapparated. 

* * *

Hermione was standing in the reception area when Harry arrived in their offices. She frowned at the sight of him. “You’re back early; don’t tell me you finished that quickly,” she said. “Or does it have something to do with the state that Minnie came back in?” 

“Did you take a look at the list the DASA sent us?” Harry asked, ignoring her question. “What did you think Hair of the Dog was?” 

“I don’t know – a pub?” his friend and business partner guessed. 

Harry shook his head. “It’s a pet grooming parlour,” he informed her, and Hermione’s eyes suddenly went wide with understanding. “And it’s owned by Snape,” Harry added, gloomily. 

“ _Snape_?!” exclaimed Hermione. 

“Yeah. He threw me out of the shop after Minnie . . . well, after Minnie.” Harry sheepishly rubbed one hand over the back of his neck. “Trouble is, I wasn’t finished. I’ll have to go back.” 

There was a pause as Hermione regarded him, doubtfully. “Perhaps we should send someone else,” she said, finally, and crossed the room to their filing cabinet. Pulling out the middle drawer, she bent over to search through it, until her head and shoulders had disappeared into it, and she was in danger of falling in completely. “I know Tomas has that block of flats in Kensington,” her muffled voice floated up, “but maybe Marigold . . . ?” 

“ _No_ ,” snapped Harry. A bit too sharply, he realised, when Hermione levered herself upright again and turned to face him with a surprised and enquiring look. “No,” he repeated, more calmly. “I’ll finish the job. I have to go back and apologise anyway.” He absolutely  _refused_  to think about why the thought of anyone else going back, looking at Snape – talking to Snape, maybe  _laughing_  with Snape – caused his stomach to tighten with a hot, sick feeling. 

“Okay,” Hermione agreed, bumping the filing cabinet drawer with her hip to close it. It slid shut with a  _whoosh_  and an echoing crash. “I’ll put a note in the files that the elves aren’t to come to you whilst you’re there.” 

Following her into the back offices, Harry wondered why in Merlin’s name he hadn’t thought to send a message asking her to do that as soon as Snape had told him that he didn’t allow elves in his shop. 

“Will you be returning today?” his friend asked as she rummaged around on her desk. It always surprised Harry to see just how _unorganised_ Hermione’s desk was these days. 

“Uh, no,” he responded, crossing over to the large board stuck to the opposite wall. “I think Snape needs some time to cool off, so I’ll go tomorrow.” He studied the small cards pinned to the board – the list of shops the DASA had hired them for, plus all the other job details. Spotting one familiar name, Harry smirked as he pulled the card down. “In the meantime, I’ll call at one of the other DASA shops.” 

“Which one?” Hermione finally found the file she’d been after, but was now searching for her quill. “Flourish and Blotts? Fortescue’s? Quality Quidditch?” 

“None.” Harry held out the card to her, and waited for her eyes to scan it. 

“ _Borgin and Burkes_?!” Hermione’s eyebrows rose so high, Harry wouldn’t have been surprised to see them fly off her forehead. “ _Borgin and Burkes_  are part of the DASA?!” 

Harry grinned at her open-mouthed astonishment. “Apparently,” he began, settling himself on the corner of his own desk, next to Hermione’s, “when the DASA chairman complained about the state of the shops in Knockturn Alley, Mr Borgin countered about how it was disgraceful – the Association was only for  _Diagon_  Alley, and just what was Knockturn supposed to do? So the chairman called his bluff, and made him become a member. Unsurprisingly, none of the other places on Knockturn have joined up yet.” 

Hermione let out a giggle. “So you’re going to clean the windows of Borgin and Burkes?” she queried. “You’ll be there for hours, Harry!” 

“If not days,” Harry agreed. He stood up and made for the door, before turning back. “I’d better be careful – some of the items in that shop might melt once they get a bit of sun on them.” 

Hermione’s peal of laughter followed him out of the office. 

* * *

To Harry’s chagrin, it took more hours than it should have done to finish cleaning Borgin and Burkes’ windows. Whilst doing the inside – once he’d  _finally_ managed to get the outside clean enough; although with the grime still on the inside, that was rather hard to tell – Hair of the Dog was just about visible, if Harry craned his head to the right and squinted a bit. Every time he caught movement from that direction out of the corner of his eye, Harry’s gaze snapped that way, hoping for a glimpse of Snape, and then he usually found himself still staring that way ten minutes later. 

Things weren’t helped by Mr Borgin hovering around behind him, muttering to various items and moving others, and generally doing everything but peer over Harry’s shoulder at what he was doing. It seemed if Harry wasn’t trying to get a glimpse of Snape, he was jumping at a particularly loud mutter from Mr Borgin. 

Finally, when he turned around and almost ran into Mr Borgin, causing him to leap backwards and almost knock all his equipment flying, he glared at the irascible shopkeeper and demanded, “Is there a problem, Mr Borgin?” 

Mr Borgin decided no, there wasn’t, and disappeared into the back of his shop, muttering to himself all the while. 

Turning back to the last part of the window, Harry craned his neck once again to look at Hair of the Dog, and discovered that the shop had gone dark.  _Closing time_ , Harry realised. Snape had locked up, and presumably gone by now. 

Gritting his teeth, he hastily finished, then packed up and left, making sure to turn the card he’d taken green and return it to the office so that Hermione or Lavender could mark Borgin and Burkes as done. 

He was not disappointed that he hadn’t seen Snape again. 

He  _wasn’t_! 

* * *

Severus felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Once again, there was a ladder against his shop. This time, though, there was no young man at the top of it. Instead, said young man was leaning casually against the window he’d cleaned just the day before, arms folded across his chest in a stance that said he was prepared to wait for quite some time if necessary. 

“Potter,” Severus said, aiming for a resigned tone, but not quite making it. He was  _not_  relieved, or pleased – or if he was, it was only because he appreciated a job done well, and wanted the inside of his shop window to match the outside.  _Yes, that’s all it is_ , he tried to convince himself. 

“Snape.” Potter straightened up and gave him a tentative smile. “I came to apologise for yesterday . . . and to finish the window.” 

“Go ahead,” Severus said magnanimously, giving a gracious nod of his head. 

Potter paused, and bit his lip. “Uh, with the window, or the apology?” he asked, sheepishly. 

Severus snorted before he could stop himself. “Start with the apology, and then we’ll see,” he said, his lips twisting up into a smirk. 

“All right then.” Potter paused, and nodded once to himself, as though debating with himself as to what he should say. “I’m sorry,” he carried on. “I’m so sorry about what happened yesterday. I honestly didn’t mean for one of my elves to end up in your shop. I could have sent a note back telling my staff that the elves weren’t to be sent to me as soon as you mentioned it, but—” Potter flushed, and briefly bit his lip again. “—to be honest, you distracted me, and I never thought of it. I  _am_  sorry, and it won’t happen again. Was your shop badly damaged? I can pay for it . . .” His voice trailed off. 

It wasn’t until Potter’s mouth stopped moving that Severus realised he’d been too busy watching it to actually listen to most of the sounds coming out of it. Unwilling to admit that, though, and ask Potter to repeat himself, instead he sniffed, haughtily. “Adequate, I suppose,” he conceded, turning to open the shop door before Potter made any comment that required his knowledge of the previous speech. “And if the shop had been  _that_  badly damaged, Potter, it would be coming out of your hide, rather than your vault.” 

A sound like a choked-off laugh came from behind him. “I don’t think my hide’s that valuable,” Potter said. He followed Severus inside the shop, and stood in the doorway, examining the rainbow-coloured walls where the soapsuds and all the various potions had landed. Potter frowned at the display, but more thoughtfully than annoyed. “You couldn’t get that off?” he asked, tilting his head at the wall. 

“No,” Severus responded through gritted teeth. “Something in the soap mixed with a potion ingredient and made it insoluble and immune to magic.” 

“Er, should I give it a try?” asked Potter, his gaze flicking to Severus and then back to the wall. 

Severus folded his arms and raised an eyebrow at Potter. “I thought you were a  _window_  cleaner,” he said. “ _That_ ,” and he tipped his own head at the wall, “you may not have noticed, is not a window.” 

Potter actually had the cheek to roll his eyes at Severus. “Yes, I had noticed,” he said, dryly. “But my company is a  _cleaning_  company that just so happens to have been hired for the shop windows by the DASA. Doesn’t mean we can’t do other things.” 

Severus put a firm stop to the parade of images of  _other things_  that he’d like to have Potter do, and cleared his throat. “Just how did you come to start a cleaning company?” he asked, and if his voice wasn’t as strong as it normally was, he paid no mind to it, and hoped Potter would ignore it, too. “I was under the impression you spent your school years dreaming of being an Auror,” his lip curled automatically in disdain, “or perhaps playing Quidditch professionally.” 

“Fighting Voldemort was enough,” Potter said, thankfully ignoring Severus’ still-automatic flinch at his old master’s name. “I didn’t want to do any more fighting, and I couldn’t become a Quidditch pro.” 

“Why not?” Severus asked, genuinely curious. “You had the talent for it.”  _Much as I hate to admit that_ , he added, silently. 

“There’s three ways of becoming a professional player. Number one,” Potter held up a finger, “someone sponsors you. Which usually means that pureblood families with tons of money bribe the coach or manager of the team to let you on. Since that doesn’t rely on talent, then you usually end up sitting in the reserves and not actually playing at all. Number two,” Potter held up another finger. “You can be scouted from school. Unfortunately, you have to have played the maximum number of years you’re allowed – which in Hogwarts’ case is six – and have received no bans or an excessive number of fouls.” 

Which was probably why none of his Slytherins had ever been scouted, Severus realised. 

“And number three,” Potter was carrying on, raising a third finger, “you can work your way up from the very bottom. Except that just means you spend thirty years doing all the horrible, nasty jobs that no-one else ever wants to deal with before you even get a  _look_  at a broom.” 

“Hmm.” Severus turned and made his way over to the front desk to check the appointment book. After the disaster of yesterday, he had banned Miss Hobbs and her brood for two months, in the hope that she’d actually  _train_  them, or – preferably – find someone else. “So how did you get from there to cleaning?” he asked idly, flipping through the book’s pages.  _Groom, groom, mani/pedi, groom, show prep, pest, groom_. 

“Well, cleaning was something I was  _good_  at. Or, at least, very used to.” Potter shrugged. “It was going to be Muggle-only at first, but then Hermione happened to mention one day that she was looking up spells to clean windows, as the house she and Ron brought had been boarded up for years, and I suggested a few, and offered to help, and once that was done, then Hermione offered to help  _me_ , and so she became office manager, and it all snowballed from there.” 

It seemed very strange to Severus that Potter considered his ability to clean things to be a desirable skill, somewhere on a par with flying a broom, or Defence. 

“How about you?” Potter carried on, strolling closer to the rainbow-coloured splotch and peering at it. “What made you open a pet grooming parlour?” 

“I did not plan to, at first,” Severus admitted, closing the appointment book and resting his hands on it. “I bought the shop to open my own potions business, or an apothecary, or  _something_  along that line. And then Miss Abbott – before she married Mr Creevey, of course – came to me, wanting a regular, bulk supply of the pet soaps and flea potions.  _She_  had plans to open a pet grooming parlour, but she did not have the required funds necessary both to buy the necessary potions and equipment, and to buy premises for it.” 

“So you decided it’d be better if you combined forces,” said Potter. Severus could see a smile curling up his lips. 

Severus sneered at the Gryffindor loyalty, or perhaps nobility, that Potter was obviously attributing to him. “No,” he corrected him. “At first, we remained separate businesses. But Miss Abbott remained my most frequent, and best, customer, and she was struggling to gain enough clients willing to accept a ‘roving groomer’ into their homes. One day, when she came to place her usual order, she worked up enough courage – or Hufflepuff stubbornness, if you prefer – to ask if I would accept a payment plan or a discount of some kind, otherwise she’d have to reduce her order.” 

“And you didn’t want that,” Potter murmured. 

“Potter, who is telling this story?” Severus barked at him. 

Potter shuffled his feet guilty and looked down. “Sorry,” he muttered, and waved a hand in a circular motion. “You were saying?” 

* * *

Harry stifled his amusement as Snape let out a  _hmpf_. 

“I could not  _afford_  to accept a payment plan, nor give Miss Abbott a discount,” he continued, finally. “I realised, however, that I had the one thing she was missing the most, and she could bring to me the thing  _I_  was missing the most. So I sold half my shop to her, in exchange for half of her business.” 

This time Harry waited, just to see if Snape had actually finished talking. It appeared he had. “Sounds very sensible,” he said, once he was sure he wasn’t going to interrupt Snape again. “And it looks like it paid off for you both.” 

“It was . . . difficult, at first,” Snape said, with the sort of forced neutrality that let Harry know it had been touch and go as to whether the shop would survive. “Most of Miss Abbott’s customers were unsure about the advisability of bringing their precious pets to the bustle of Diagon Alley, let alone so close to Knockturn. And those who were willing to do that were unsure about bringing their darlings so close to a Death Eater.” 

_“Former_ Death Eater, who was working as a spy for us,” Harry burst out, forcefully, not caring if he’d interrupted Snape again. 

Apparently, though, this time Snape didn’t mind. “Even so,” he said, bowing his head in acknowledgement of the statement, “it took time for people to believe that I wasn’t going to sacrifice their crup or kneazle, or make a note of their address to go and kidnap their pet to be sold in Knockturn Alley.” 

Harry snorted. “Some people are just idiots,” he said. 

A bell suddenly let out a soft ping, as somebody else entered the shop. Harry could have sworn that Snape abruptly muttered, “And here comes one of them,” but a quick sideways glance at the man showed him to be seemingly waiting to greet the customer. He turned to go and collect his equipment from where it rested outside the shop. 

“Oh, is that a new decoration?” he heard the customer ask, brightly. “It’s very colourful, isn’t it!” 

Snape growled, audibly, low in his throat, and Harry hurriedly dived out of the shop, before his laughter spilled out of him and gave Snape yet another reason to turn him into potion ingredients. 

* * *

Harry returned the next day with a solution Hermione had made up, tentatively called Permemag – a mixture of permeable and magical, Hermione had said, because it would allow the currently  _im_ permeable solution to leak out the magic that was keeping it that way, and after that, it could be washed or scraped off as normal – for Harry to use on the rainbow-coloured splotch that had resisted all his efforts yesterday to remove it. 

Snape had seemed to get a great deal of amusement out of watching Harry strenuously try and scrub the thing off the wall. Or, at least, he had spent a great deal of time watching Harry do so. Harry hadn’t thought he’d been that interesting, but he wasn’t about to argue with Snape. 

Whistling as he entered the shop, Harry startled one of the apprentices, who stared at Harry for so long, and gripped the hosepipe he was using so tightly, that the sink he was standing in front overflowed, and the crup standing in it was washed out onto the floor, yelping madly. 

With an exasperated shake of her head, Hannah went to rescue the crup before it could either drown, hit its head, or be washed away, and indicated to Harry that Snape was out in the back yard. 

Trying to ignore the way the dumbstruck apprentice turned in place to watch him, Harry slunk outside. 

* * *

The following day when Harry turned up – ostensibly to check whether the splotch had come back or damaged the wall in any way – he was mobbed by a group of little elderly witches, whose high, twittering voices pierced his eardrums like ice picks. 

Cringing, Harry darted a quick look around for Snape, hoping the man would come and rescue him, only to see Snape’s shoulders quiver suspiciously, before he was sweeping around a corner that led upstairs to the second floor of the shop. 

* * *

The day after that – supposedly checking on Snape’s customer satisfaction – Harry was chased around the shop by an animal that was mostly border collie by the looks of it, and then once it had him cornered, it decided it liked the look of his leg – and didn’t want to be parted from its new . . . friend. 

When he could think at all through the haze of bright red humiliation, Harry thought it was a miracle that Snape hadn’t seriously hurt himself trying not to laugh out loud. 

* * *

The following day, the shop was shut. Harry didn’t know whether he should be disappointed or relieved. 

* * *

It was another three days before Potter came back. Again. 

Severus couldn’t understand why the brat  _kept_  coming back now that his job was done. He could  _hope_  that he knew the reason, but didn’t know for  _sure_. The thought processes of Gryffindors were a mystery to him. 

Obviously hoping to avoid any accidents or mishaps or incidences of plain, sheer  _lunacy_  this time, Potter appeared in the back yard. 

“Psst! Snape!” he hissed, looking around exaggeratedly as though expecting adoring fans – or dogs – to leap out of thin air and attack him. 

Firmly trying to suppress the fizzing feeling that was ricocheting around his stomach, Severus straightened up from the cauldron he’d been leaning over and looked at where Potter was trying to blend in with the fence. 

“Yes, Potter?” he drawled, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow. 

“Is it safe?” Potter whispered. 

Severus had to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent a laugh escaping. “Safe from what?” he enquired, silently congratulating himself when the quiver in his voice was barely noticeable. 

Potter bit his lip, and shrugged. “Dogs?” he suggested. “Elderly witches? . . . Apprentices?” he finished, apparently unable to stop a smile curling his lips up. 

“Well, it is not Douglas’ day to work, Leopold Bluemeh will not be bringing his dog back for another six weeks, and the Devonshire Quilting Society has disbanded – at least until next Tuesday; so, yes, Potter, I believe you’re safe.” Severus smirked at him as he cautiously left his hiding place. 

However, when Potter did nothing but stop in his tracks and  _look_  at Severus, Severus found himself growing nervous.  _Which is ridiculous; I have no reason to be . . . wary, or unsettled_ , he reminded himself, but still gripped his own arms tighter. 

“Why are you here again, Potter?” he finally asked, unable to bear the tension any longer. 

“I thought perhaps we could . . . talk,” said Potter, hesitantly, finally looking away from Severus. Strangely, Severus immediately wanted to demand that Potter look back at him – until he noticed that Potter  _was_  looking at him, peering through his eyelashes. 

“Talk,” Severus repeated. For once, his brain had gone numb. He had no idea what Potter meant, or what response he should be giving. 

“Yes,” Potter said, softly, and somehow, without moving, he was suddenly closer to Severus. So close that Severus could feel the heat from his body. He closed his eyes and clamped down on the urge to reach out and pull Potter that bit closer, but when he opened them again, Potter had taken that step himself, and Severus jerked backwards and almost overset the cauldron, which he’d forgotten about. 

Grimly clutching the edge of the table, Severus tried his best to wrestle his emotions back under control. “Talk,” he croaked, and had to clear his throat and try again. “Talk about what?” he asked, sounding less like a crow that time. 

Potter remained where he was, very still, as if he was trying not to scare off a wild animal. “I want to get to know you better,” he murmured. “I think we could be—” His voice trailed off. 

“Friends?” asked Severus, sneering deeply at the very thought. 

Potter moved his head in a way that wasn’t quite a shake and was almost a shrug. “Maybe,” he stated. “Or maybe we could be – something else.” 

“Something else? Such as?” Severus folded his arms again. He wasn’t sure he liked the gleam in Potter’s eyes. 

_Though since when was I looking hard enough to see it?_  he wondered. 

And then all thoughts and questions were abruptly flying out of his head, as Potter took that brief step closer again, and actually had the audacity to press his lips to Severus’. 

“Such as that,” he said, a brief eternity later, stepping back again. He licked his lips, and Severus heard himself groan. Potter grinned at him. “Well, Snape?” he queried, tilting his head slightly. “Want to see what we could become?” 

For a moment, Severus considered flinging the brat out on his arse, delectable though it was. He was still a  _boy_  compared to Severus, and he was James Potter’s son, and he was arrogant, and he . . . and he . . . but he . . . 

But he had a wonderful arse, and warm, firm lips. 

Potter wasn’t  _all_  that bad, Severus supposed. 

He looked at Harry, who was beaming hopefully at him, and bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. 

“Perhaps,” Severus said, slowly, “you should start by calling me Severus.”

  
  


-The End-


End file.
